Halo Tainting
by HowOdd
Summary: Crowley gets the order he was waiting for. It'll be a long night. C/A- not graphic, however. Rated on the safe side, mostly for themes.


_I own nothing but my dreams_

Halo Tainting

I started the Bentley with a smile, driving southwards to Soho. It was going to be a good day. Because today, I was going halo-tainting.

(The order had come, the order I had been _waiting _for, the night before. I had laughed, the laugh of a demon, thinking, finally, finally.)

I drive very, very fast, and pull up outside the bookshop. I check my watch- seven o'clock, it reads, for London.

_Good._

I push the door open, and turn the open sign around before it closes. I give a sharp, meaningful look at the two or three customers, and they close-to run out.

"Good evening, Aziraphale," I say, very, very slowly.

"Hallo, Crowley," he says, carefully. He knows I'm up to something. I never normally bother making a proper entrance, and I always call first.

"Go get dressed, Angel. I'm taking you out tonight," I tell him. I do not ask.

"Ur- Where? What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

I try not to roll my eyes. I wish he'd be more co-operative. "It's," I say, "a surprise," and I click my fingers to redress him.

This is how he looks when I'm in control:

His shoes are dark, polished black leather, sharp and cold. His trousers are cut very close to the leg, following the curves up his calves and thighs. His shirt is grey, and his jacket is black, and very well tailored. It fits, chasing his waist in, and exaggerating his shoulders just enough. It is buttoned once, over his waist. His hair is combed back, showing his blue eyes which look far too soft amongst all the hard lines and angles of his brand new outfit.

He looks _great._

I grin, cockily, and say, "Ready? Good, let's get out of here."

"Crowley-" he says, sounding unsure, confused, still leaning on the counter nervously, awkwardly. It doesn't fit the way he looks.

"That's my name."

"What are you doing?"

"Don't ask questions, Angel. You look bloody hot like that, by the way."

He blushes, and says, "Ur, thank you."

First, I take him to the Ritz. But today, I get the best table, and I turn the lights down, and light the candles and make the place empty. I make music, slow, good, dark music seep from the walls. And I make the service quick, and quiet, and hidden. And I smile. Properly smirking at him, never breaking the eye contact. I steer the conversation away from anything important, away from heaven and hell and history, and towards us, as humans.

He looks nervous. So I go about getting him drunk.

Next, we go to a club. We are drinking, a lot. In the middle of another of his monologues on ineffablility, I grin, and say, "I've been waiting for this song."

"Surprised you didn't just miracle it on," says Aziraphale.

"I have the patience of a saint. But that's beside the point; we're wasting it."

"Eh?"

"Come daaancssse, Angel."

I take him to the floor.  
And when the song is over, and I have managed to bury my laugher, Aziraphale says," Well. You asked. You knew what you were letting yourself in for. You could easily have asked any one of those men staring at you to dance instead."

"No. No, I'm not here to tempt. Well, not any of them." A smirk- and a look of horror on the angel's face. I ignore it. "Here. Let me teach you how you dance in one of these places."

I can tell that he wants to stop me, but I slide my hands around his waist, and, well, I hardly expect him to speak after that.

"Mooove, Zira."

My hands are holding the hips of the angel, holding them much too close to my own, as I move with the crowd, and do my best to get Aziraphale to move too.

"Come on. Dance."

A flicker of forked tongue on my very red lips.

And Aziraphale dances.

I try not to think about the old him.

"This is so odd, Crowley," he says between dances "I mean, why are we here? What are you _doing?"_

"Don't ask questions," I say again.

Lastly, I take him to a midnight show. Half-naked men dance for us, while we watch. He is surprised, and I can see that when he realises where we are, he nearly says something about morality, nearly sobers up. But I slide an arm around his shoulder and put a drink in his hands, and say, "just look."

And then he is captivated by the skin, by the movement. I was, too, the first time I came here. But now, I have learnt to look indifferent, even if I do sweat and even if my heart does beat, and even if-

I want to hurry this up.

So after a few drinks there, I take the flirting up a notch, start licking my lips at him. It's pheromone time. I get closer and closer to him, talk quieter and quieter, and then, suddenly, say, "Come on, Angel. Let's go," in a voice that is deep and smooth and persuasive.

He looks almost reluctant until he sees the look in my eyes. Then he stands, and follows me to the Bentley. I take him back, to my flat, and sit him down on the sofa with more wine. I sit next to him, and look at him as I take my sunglasses off.

"Have you ever seen my eyes?" I ask him. I need to _seduce._

"No," he gasps. "They're- Oh, Crowley..."

When he gasps, he sounds so much like the old Aziraphale, the one in tweed who loves God, the one who reads too much and would never, ever sin, that I am torn.

I love that Aziraphale, love him in a way that is utterly human. Love him because he's one of the most beautiful people I've ever known. Love him because he smiles when he sees me, love him because he's so different to me, so pure and angelic and good. Love him because he is just so human, too. Love him because there's that point of weakness inside him, that point of darkness. Just love him, a pure love I thought I could never be capable of again.

And at the same time, I know that if I am not careful, he will redeem me. I will end up an angel again, pure and pretty and blonde, like I used to be. In the coldness of Heaven, alone, again. And I have crafted this new one so carefully, so skilfully, in just one night. He is a masterpiece. And, I tell myself, he is still himself. But now, or soon, he will be an Aziraphale I am allowed to love.

So I do not let him be shocked into himself. I do not give him time. As soon as he gasps, I move in, and kiss him, hard. His mouth is still open, and I take advantage of this, sliding my tongue into his mouth. He groans.

"Do you have a secret, Aziraphale?" I ask, pulling away.

"I... er..." I can hear the desire in his voice. He _wants _me now. He can't think straight. "Crowley..."

I smirk at him. I pause-3,2,1- and then I pounce.

The angel is going to _fall _tonight.


End file.
